Somewhere I Belong
by Black Raven 2539
Summary: A girl with problems contemplates throwing it all away with a couple of pills, her life itself meaning nothing to her. But will someone in the night change her mind?
1. Chapter 1

Black Raven here. Yes this is a story. Yes I am depressed for reasons I won't say right now. And Yes, the OC character in here is based off of me.

I do not own RENT

* * *

The air was cold, cold like my heart. Hot tears streamed down my face, realization hitting me like a ton of bricks.

I could never be who I wanted to be, never be who I would dream of ever being.

I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears rolling down my face, but only succeed in making them roll even faster.

I walk out of my loving home, the cold late April air hitting me even harder. I'll run away.

I run endlessly. I rest. I run. I rest. I run aimlessly in the dark, now officially lost. Not that I would want to be found anyways.

I leave the things I need behind. The medication I need to consume to live sitting on my dresser, Hydroxyurea, ha, let's see how long I can live without it, with me being chronically anemic. Topimax, for my chronic migraines. Let's see how long I can last not being clearly focused and numbed from pain.

But I did bring one medication for if this became too much. It wasn't life saving, nor was it purpose supposed to be. Oxycotin. To numb me away as I took the fifteen pills I took with me at once to rid me of this world.

The simple jacket I have on, protected me from some of the chill, but not quite all of it.

I wandered aimlessly through the streets of NY, particularly through a part I've never been before.

Shady characters walked upon the streets. Hmm, maybe one has a jackknife and can end my misery quickly.

A guy comes up to me, ruffled no doubt by drugs, and alcohol.

"How old old are you?" He stutters, alcohol reeking his breath.

However I am completely unafraid by him, not really caring about what happens to me at all. But God his breath might kill me if those pills don't.

"16. Almost 17." I say, still a little dignified that I was almost an adult, but like I ever planned to live that long. Starting about five months ago.

"You you wanna have fun?" He says, a glimmer of lust in his glazed over eyes.

"If you mean rape, then can you kill me first?" I say, no hint of fear in my eyes or voice.

Startled by my reply, he looked at me weird then started to say something but threw up instead.

"You you a crazy bitch, go kill yourself." He said as he swayed away, after he was done puking his guts up.

"That's what happens when you have suicidal tendencies and thoughts you drunk. That's kind of the definition." I mutter walking away.

I walk on, the press of the little pills in my pocket becoming more enticing.

What's this life for, if the one thing you want, you could never have?

The grungy buildings cling closer together, barrels of fire becoming more frequent.

But I ain't gonna lie. It was cold out side, really cold. I gather next to a bunch of hobo's cuddled around a barrel and stand next to it.

They looked at me strange, as if I didn't belong here. I probably didn't, with clean clothes, not a speck of mud on my cheeks. But I wouldn't belong anywhere now. Soon, this body would be lifeless, cold against the alleyway walls, pick pocketed from a coat, but no pills, for they would already be in my stomach digested sending my brain, heart, and lungs a lethal dose of painkiller.

"You don't belong here." A thick black woman said to me, moles and dirt and sweat upon her face.

I sneeze from the smoke coming from the barrel and black dots dance across my eyes. Ah, the first symptom to a growing migraine. Oh well.

"I don't belong anywhere." I reply simply, holding my hands dangerously close to the flame, the heat burning my hand, but I continue to hold it there as the flames just almost lick my palms.

The black homeless lady pulls back my hands from the barrel and looks at me like I'm crazy.

"What the fuck are you doing? You could have burn the skin right off your little fingers."

"So what? What do you care?" I reply simply, a slight hint of anger in my voice, but otherwise completely calm and stoic.

"You're right I don't. But you still don't belong here. Go back the fuck home." She says holding her hands near the barrel.

"What makes you think I want to go back home? What makes you think I'm scared to be here, or really why do you even care to ask questions if you supposedly don't care?"

" You're swaying like a freaking idiot, and I never said you were scared either. Trust me, and go the fuck home, girl. A little black girl as pretty as you would get raped or murdered so fast like a druggie get his high. Go the fuck home."

She shoves me away from the barrel and I fall, the shove coming unexpected. I fall hard on my ass, my long black hair falling by my cheeks. I pick my self from the concrete and brush off my pants. I look at my hands and see the little indention of pebbles marked on my palms.

I stuff my hands in my pockets, my fingers finding its way around the several white pills in my pocket.

I smile however to contrast the scowling bitch's face.

"Like I said, I don't belong anywhere." I turn around and walk away, the smile vanishing as quickly as it came.

I cross the street and duck through an alley to reach the other side of the street without having to walk the entire block.

I see a park bench with grafitti all over it in a nice park. Wow, what a contrast.

I lay down on it. I wonder what time it is. It was 11:00 when I ran from home so, it's been to have been at least three hours, so now it's one-ish I guess.

I've decided. I lived in the good part of NY, they didn't accept me, went to the bad part they still didn't.

I finger a pill in my pocket. I pull it out, breaking it in half, and popping it in my mouth.

Not enough to kill me, but definitely enough to give me that high buzz, just enough to cloud my thinking process.

The bitter sliver of pill slides down my throat with a little of pooled saliva I gathered in my mouth to prevent it from getting stuck in my throat.

* * *

Ooh. I feel it. Even though I still have some rational thinking process, most of it has flown out of the window as the painkiller floods my system. I feel myself swirling around like a top, even though I know I'm laying down.

Distorted sounds fill my ears, incomprehensible and all the more sounding distorted, and my eyes flutter close.

* * *

An annoy ing sound. Very annoying. My eyes flutter open to see a big black man standing over me. Talking.

So that's what the sound was.

"SWHAAH?" I say, my tongue unable to produce the words I wanted.

"Are you alright?" The dude asks, his voice a deep tenor.

"Yeps a dooddee, completesly finne." I say giggling. I can't help it if he's trying to ask me a serious question and I'm totally fucked up.

"Are you sure? Shouldn't you be getting home? It's late." He asks with concern.

"Hehehe noppe. I livees everywhere." I say pointing my finger at him.

He pushes away my finger gently.

"Are you high?"

"Maybe yess, maybe no, haha you guessed right, yeps." I giggle more.

He frowns, but al I see are little smiles.

" What are you doing tomorrow? You won't live out here like that by the time the sun rises like that."

"I wassn't planning on it." I say matter of factly.

He visibly frowns even more, aww, did I upset him? Does the truth make him sad.

"Why don't you come to my place, get you something to eat, and if you want to leave you can leave." He says.

"I'ms not a prostitutee dude, I'm just waiting to die. I don't want to go to your place."

"I never meant it to come out that way. And I doubt you want that either. I meant you could sleep on my couch, rather than the graffitti'd bench, in the cold."

"I don't think I'm your type."

"You're pretty smart to be high."

"You're kinda dummb to be picking up a random girl off ow the streets and offering their home to twem."

"It's stupid, yes, but I can see that, but I can also see that leaving you out here alone is stupid also. I don't want this on my conscience if anything happened to you."

"Sso it's coconscince then? Well I'wes sorry but I was planning on doing something else anyway." I sit up, swaying. My hair flops in my face and I giggle

"Well, whatever you were gonna do, don't do it. Just come with me."

"Well, I can't guarantwee it, but I guess so."

I stand up, and almost fall, my equilibrium was waay off but a stern hand kept me from falling down.

"HOWEY SHIT YOU'RE HUGE!" I say as he towers over me. I thought I was tall, and I'm five eight.

He smirks before asking me,

"Do you need help walking?"

I giggle, knowing how well fucked up on Oxycotin I am.

"Yess."

We walked down the grungy alleys in silence, me occasionally tripping over my feet like an idiot.

"Soo…what's you're name?" He asks me.

"Awwlex,"

"Awlex?"

Allllexxx" I strain to get the right consonants to roll off my tongue. Well if a half pill did this to me, can I even imagine fifteen?

"What's you'rez?"

"Collins."

We walked more in silence, before he asked me,

"How old are you?"

"I'ms a… uuh. I don't know." I giggle.

He sighs. "I'll ask you again when you're sober."

He stops in front of a grungy building.

"YO MARK! THROW DOWN THE KEY!" He yells really really loud, and a white guy comes out on a fire escape really really high. He tosses something shiny down and Collins catches it.

"I'm tirred, can I sweep now?"

"No, not yet. God, you're fucked up."

We went up a staircase to heaven. I know it was to heaven cause there were so moany stairs.

We stopped at the top and Collins fit the key in the door.

With a creak, the door slid open and we shuffled in side.

He set me on a torn up, duct taped couch and told me to rest there. He told me something else, but I can't remember as I slipped fast into oblivion.

* * *

Ok that was the end. Next chapter will come soon. Review if you like. Bye.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up, warm, but uncomfortable. There's already something wrong with that. I woke up.

I wasn't supposed to, but I did. I look around and see a bare loft, save for beer bottles on every available surface, and a burnt trash can in the center.

Where the hell am I at? Was I raped last night, and taken home to a stranger's house? I peek under the warm sheets that covered me to find that all my clothes were still on.

So nope, scratch out rape. What the hell happened last night though. I can't remember shit. All I remember is taking half a pill enough to get fucked up to finish the job.

I reach in my pocket and search for the pills. Still there. I sigh a breath of relief. At lest I'm not in a druggie's home that'll steal my most peaceful way of dying.

The door creakily slides open, which I'm guessing is the front door slides open and a huge black man with a tie and suit and briefcase walks in.

He looks at me with surprise, then smiles, before sitting his briefcase down.

"Yo Roger? You still here?" The dude I still have no idea who is, although now my stomach flips uneasily with nausea. Ugh, that's what I get for takin Oxycotin on an empty stomach.

A dude comes out from another room my eyes had no intention of even wandering about what was stored inside.

He had short chopped hair, a beautiful dirty blonde, with a sleeveless black tee shirt and a ripped jair of jeans hugged his hips.

"How was she?" The black dude asked, taking off his tie and tossing it on the counter.

"Slept all fucking day. I'm tired of babysittin. I gotta go now. I got a gig soon, and April's waiting." He said, his voice scruffy and hoarse from apparent singing.

"It's not babysitting if she just slept all day."

"Whatever, stop bring homeless people home." They guy named Roger glanced at me before glancing back to the huge black dude, that towered over him.

"Don't forget you were a certain homeless person once that I brought home." The black dude snickered, tossing off his suit jacket to show a plain black tee shirt underneath.

"Why is she here though?"

"Found her in the park high, after I was coming home from the bar. Got kicked out actually."

"So?"

"She was high on pills, talking about killing herself man." The black dude with the goatee whispered. But duh, I'm awake, and somewhat sober, so of course I can understand what he's saying.

"Damn. She's fucked up. How old is she?"

"I don't know, she was too high to tell me."

"But you can't just bring her home Collins."

"So what was I supposed to do Roger? Wait and watched while she overdosed?"

Why in the hell do they think they can talk like that with me right here as if I'm not even here. I can hear them just fine. My stomach flops again, and I hold the urge to ralph over every available surface.

"How do you know she had pills?"

Wait, how did he know I had pills?

"She had like fourteen of em in her front pocket. And a half. Some type of painkiller. I was kind of scared for her Roger, she had no fear of dying...at all. I coudn't leave her."

"Yeah, yeah. you. You coming to my gig tonight?" Roger asks, picking up a guitar that I hadn't seen before until just now, and slings the case over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I might. Have papers to grade. Have to deal with stuff. Ya know Mark was a lot more supportive when I told him about this."

"Well Mark's a softie, and really he'll agree to anything pitiful enough."

I was pitiful to them. Hahaha, rich, that's rich. Like I give two shits about what they think. I don't even really know these people, at all.

My stomach does somersaults and that's it. I'm gonna officially hurl chunks.

" Where's the bathroom?" I speak, my voice kind of rough from not speaking at all.

"Uh, right there." Roger speaks, pointing to a door slightly off it's hinge to the right.

I jump up and run, my high top chucks sliding across the flat floor.

I slam the door shut, and hold my hair above the toilet as bile rose from my mouth. Yuck.

Oh god, the one thing I hate more than my life is vomiting. I hate it. It's like the bile represents everything bad about my life and no matter how many times I throw up I can't get rid of it cause it's always gonna be inside me.

I spit in the toilet one last time before I flush. I'm so not taking Oxycotin without something in my stomach.

I exit the bathroom, the door a little looser than it was before. Oops.

Upon the coffe table beside the couch was a small glass of water and a peppermint.

I look around the apartment, but find the two men nowhere to be found. I take the packaged peppermint first, and pop it in my mouth.

The peppermint cools my burning throat, the acid in my stomach having burned it ruthlessly.

Where did the two dudes go? I look behind me, and I see a fire escape behind me. There I see two dudes on the fire escape.

It was Collins, but another white dude, not the guy named Roger. He was an absolute midget against Collins. He was short, and oh my God. This dude was as pale as ice. Someone needs to get a tan.

His hair however was a strawberry blonde and cropped and flipped in the front. Such a pretty cool hairstyle for such a geeky looking dude. I might've not thought he was a out of season geek if he didn't have on cordoroy khaki pants and a striped sweater and a blue and dingy white-ish scarf on.

Collins covered his face with his huge hands and had a certain look of tiredness. I see he had traded his black slacks for black jeans and a extra open button shirt.

I see the midget look at Collins with a look of sympathy as he puts his hand on Collins shoulder.

Then I see it wasn't tiredness. Collins was crying. Why was he crying?

Why does seeing Collins cry, make me feel bad inside? Hmm. Maybe it was me. Afterall, I was just plopped into their lives, even if he did invite me. It was kind made me feel like I was intruding in on something I shouldn't have. I should leave.

I walk out of the apartment, sliding the door closed behind me gently. God knows I don't wanna wreck the sparce place.

I jot down the stairs, my feet tapping every other step.

I leave out the building, the bright sunlight coming from outside causing pain to shoot to the back of my eyes. I never realized how dark it was inside that apartment.

It blinds my eyes, and I whine in temporary pain. I shield my eyes, and continue walking out the building into the street...


	3. Chapter 3

I walk down the street, tears of hurt and anger welling up in my eyes as I clench my fist.

How in the the hell in the past two months did I end up like this?

The pressure, the fights, the cursing, all in the house, my home, my solace was gone.

I remember the happy times I had with my family. The good, the laughs, the overall sense of joy.

But it's gone now. The bullshit of the past couple of months had been nothing but horror. Pure hell. The bad has outweighed the good.

"HEY! ALEX!"

I look up above to see that dude, Collins looking down at me from the fire escape.

"Where are you going?"

I simply pause to stare before walking away again down the sidewalk.

I walk away in silence, in solitude.

"No one cares anyway." I mumble as I kick a solidary rock off the side and turn the corner.

Honestly. Take a helpless girl into their home from the cold night? Publicity stunt or pedophile.

Honest concern for a stranger? Plain bullshit.

Human are made to care and love only themselves. To care for others is a burden. To love another is an emotional attachment that will only hurt you in the end.

'I used to love', I thought as I continue down the street, passing some people.

'I used to care', I thought as a tear slipped from my eyes and glided down my cheek.

'I used to be determined, willing to work things out, to make people happy', I thought as I wiped my eyes, and put my hand into my pocket, my fingers coming in contact with several, white pills.

'Now I don't. Not even for myself'.

A big hand stops me as it has a firm hold on my shoulder.

I don't care to even look at him, as I already knew who it was.

"You stalk little girls now?"

"No." Came the rumbling reply. Collins exactly. Exactly who I'd thought it would be.

"Then buzz off, dude." I say calmly.

"I asked you a question."

"I chose to ignore it." I retorted.

"Where are you going?"

Damn, this dude is fucking persistent.

"Nowhere."

"What are you planning to do?"

"Nothing." I lie.

"Bullshit, I see your hand fingering those pills in your pocket. I'm not stupid."

I turn to look at him, seeing him look down on me with pity. I look back up at him, and secretly hate that even though I'm tall he still towers over me.

I don't need your fucking pity.

"Good, you seem too damn smart to be so inquisitive, and sticking your nose in shit it doesn't belong."

"Don't be a bitch to people who are trying to help you. It'll do you no good."

I shocked at his usage of words, but I like it. He doesn't sugar coat shit.

"Honestly why do you fucking care?" I glare at him.

"Honestly, you want some fucking reward? My parents are fucking rich, if you want money, go to them. I don't give a shit."

"...Because you're throwing your life away. When...life is... fuck it."

Collins glared back at me, pity no longer in his eyes, replaced by something else that I can't quite explain.

"Life isn't pretty. And it sure as hell ain't fair. But throwing your life away, is idiotic, and inconsiderate."

"Inconsiderate? Honestly? It's my fucking life, I do what I fucking want with it. Think of it this way. I'm giving up my life, so that some other person could have the oxygen to breathe,instead of me wasting that one breath. How is that inconsiderate?" I scoff at him.

"Because, you're being selfish, because, someone out there wishes they can have a full, life. But because of being nice, or because of one fucked up mistake, their life is cut in half, literally. And you have a fucking choice to live a long life, and you chose to end it over some fucking petty woe is me bullshit in your life. " He released my sholder and poked me in my chest.

It didn't hurt, nor was it meant to be, but it hurt me more than I thought it would. Not physically, but emotionally.

"Be grateful, that you have a chance to live, cause some people don't. They might even die tomorrow and there would be nothing they can do. They can't pray, to make it better, they'll just end up shriveling up and dying anyway."

Collins sighed.

His words made me think, made me feel.

"I just want you to think about what you're doing, before you do it. You are right, it is your life, but don't throw it away."

"Why don't we just go back to the loft and talk, instead of you going all MIA."

"I'm not much of a talker." I say honestly, his previous harsh but painstakingly true words calming me.

"Well, like rock and roll?" He smiles.

"Who doesn't?" I smile back.

"Roger-"

"has a gig right?"

"Yeah. Wanna?"

"Sure."

And we once again walk back to the loft, my decision undecided, and my future even blurrier, but I'll tread on for now, just to see what life really has in store for me...

"


End file.
